Conspiracy Theory Pt. 03

Quickly she shed her coat and pulled out the knife she always carried. As she stood outside she could hear Amy singing quietly to herself. She sounded pleased and happy.

Rachel pulled the shower door open. Amy's eyes opened wide in shock. Rachel sent the knife in a perfect upward strike between Amy's ribs and into her heart. Amy's face twisted and she leaned back against the wall. The water and foam flowing down her body abruptly started to turn red.

A crazed killer wouldn't strike just once, nor would they be that precise. Rachel started to stab Amy again and again. Now she was striking downwards. The ribs overlapped against such an attack and so Amy's breasts were quickly covered with shallow bleeding slashes.

Amy tried to say something but the dangerous eyes of the woman who was attacking her mesmerized her, and her strength was ebbing fast. She slid down to the ceramic floor. Rachel punched three hard deep penetrations into the swell of Amy's stomach then stood back as Amy let out a gurgling sigh and her head fell forward. The water continued to flow away pink.

Rachel looked at herself. Her front was pretty wet. She used the water flow to

rinse away the splatter from her arms and front and to clean off the knife. Only a professional would leave it. Stepping back onto the mat outside the shower Rachel removed her wet shoes. The bottoms of her feet were still dry and she didn't want to leave any moist footprints for the police forensics to find. After that she slipped her coat on over the wet clothing.

A quick search found the ready pile of documents. She replaced the minutes and attendance list among the rest of the parcel's contents making sure they were in order, using a pair of disposable gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. The list that Amy had made went into her pocket.

She checked her face in the mirror before leaving and removed a spot of blood she'd missed. She slipped back into her wet shoes on the front door mat and left. She'd done a brilliant improvisation, and it looked as if she'd been just in time. Now it was just Priest to take out. And the other reporter; Crossman.

****

11.17am

It was déjà vu all over again. Dan had waited and waited. When Amy didn't arrive or answer her phone he'd driven round and found a crowd outside. Before announcing himself he insinuated himself into the crowd and listened. Water had started to flow into the flat below Amy's and the landlord had sent round a plumber who'd found the body.

Dan felt sick, and it took everything he could muster to prevent himself from vomiting there and then.

Amy had been right – the revelation made his head spin as he thought about it. Priest, which was his last option. If he could get something from him then he'd have enough to go public, or at least to the police. Amy had been a colleague. He owed it to her to make sure the police got whoever it was.

He turned to make his way out of the crowd, only to be stopped by a familiar face.

"Crossman-san," Yuriko Obato stopped him in his tracks. "Please come with me." The sensation of a pistol barrel being pushed into his ribcage persuaded him to go with her.

'What are you doing?' Dan asked in shock.

'I hope I am forcing you to save your life.' She led him across a couple of streets and then opened a car and waved the pistol for him to get inside. Then she put the pistol away and smiled at him cautiously. 'Please accept my humble apologies for such melodramatics,' she began. 'I have been talking with Inspector Simmons. The death of Miss Hemmings, along with the information he shared convinced me that you are in great danger." Dan shook his head as he tried to come to terms with the events that were unfolding before him.

'Are you aware that every member of the IDCES except two are now dead? That an MI5 agent attached to Sir Lucas Denby has also been killed very recently, and that your colleague had recently requested information about that committee and is also now deceased?" Yuriko added.

'Two and the typist,' corrected Dan.

'Miss Rodriguez was shot and killed yesterday evening.'

'What?'

'I am afraid it is true Crossman-san.' Dan shook his head again, this time in disbelief.

'Amy had pretty much put it together. We were going to brief our Editor this morning...'

'The signs are not propitious that you would have survived that meeting. So now I have confirmed your danger where do you wish me to take you?'

'What are you going to do?' he ignored her question.

'I intend to seek a meeting with Sir Lucas and put these matters to him.' Yuriko said as she fired up the car. "The killings bear all the signs of a trained operative. The only such person in view is his regular bodyguard. If she has turned rogue and acquired access to the computer system then he too may be in danger."

"In that case I'm going after Priest. He must have answers, and besides he needs to be warned." He looked at her. "Just who the hell are you? You sure as shit aren't one of Ackland's foreign investors."

"I'm an undercover operative of Section Nine of the Japanese Defence Forces," She answered. "I'm working with one of your Ministry of Defence employees to make sure this situation doesn't escalate." Dan looked at her expressionless face – she could be lying for all he knew; yet she'd taken the time to purportedly save his life.

"Okay," he said. "Just drop me off at the Voice."

Offices of The Voice, Ludgate Circus.12.10pm

'What the hell?' exclaimed Paul Dixon, as he opened the envelope the courier had just delivered. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the heading. 'Defence of the Realm Act'. Actually being with the Voice had made him fairly familiar with D-notices. But what was IDCES and why couldn't he print anything about it?

As he was skipping through the paperwork the telephone on his desk rang. By the time he had finished the brief conversation he felt like throwing up.

Ten minutes later, that's exactly what he did.

When Paul came out of the bathroom he saw Dan in the office. He was emptying files out of his draw in to a brown worn briefcase that he kept under his desk. Paul walked across to him.

"Dan, I need to talk…" His voice was uneven.

"About Amy? I know – I was waiting for her when they found her." Dan said as he slammed his draw shut. Amy had recorded Mitchell's address as a matter of routine. Now he was going hunting. "I know who killed her – and I'm going to make sure the bitch gets what she deserves." He handed the briefcase to Paul. "Look, this is everything we learned, including an overview of the article – if anything happens to me…" Paul nodded. "Thanks – just make sure that Amy gets a full writer's credit on it."

"I will." Paul replied. "You know that I'm probably going to have to fire you if you get through this." Dan nodded as he began to walk out the office.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he said as he reached the lift. "And I doubt it will be the last."

The Home Office, 2.46pm

"Thank you for seeing me like this, Sir Lucas," said Yuriko respectfully. He nodded as she sat down opposite him.

"I'm curious to know what I can do for you Miss Obato," he replied. "After all, it's not every day that a member of the Japanese security forces asks to see me. Shouldn't you be talking to my colleagues in the Ministry of Defence?"

"Unfortunately, this matter does not involve them," Yuriko spoke softly. "Time is short, so I'll come straight to the point. I understand you are in the process of developing a computer program called Oracle and I have reason to believe that your protection officer has compromised it for her own ends."

"Oracle? How do you know about that?" Denby felt genuinely uncomfortable – he thought that he'd practically erased all record of the program's existence from the outside world.

"How I know about it is immaterial," Yuriko countered. "The important thing is that I fear your life is in great danger from the very person who was assigned to protect it." Denby paused for a moment as he took in her comment. She thinks I'm in danger, he thought to himself, I might be able to exploit this. It took all his self-control to suppress a grin from sweeping his face.

"Well, I'm extremely grateful for your warning Miss Obato and if there's anything I can do to help then I will gladly offer whatever assistance you require," Denby replied. "Now, you mentioned in your phone call about something that was mutually beneficial to us?"

"Yes," she answered. "A few weeks ago there was an incident in Japan…"

The Home Office, 3.05pm

Well that had gone rather well, thought Lucas after the Japanese agent had taken her leave. He'd given her Rachel, which should clear him of any hint of suspicion. More than that he had sold her a copy of Oracle. That should shut her up as well.

It would take the Japanese time to get it working. Assume at least a couple of years if it had taken his people five. In that time he could make himself secure. He'd have to set his people to work on some way of protecting his Oracle from the other Oracles he would in due course sell, starting with hers.

In the meantime he dialled Rachel. He had to warn her to run. If she were caught she would be bound to turn on him. He frowned when there was no answer from her mobile. He could hardly leave an incriminating message, so just said "its Lucas, Rachel. Could you please contact me as soon as you get this? Thank you." Then he tried her landline. Again he got no reply. Suddenly he realized that she must have gone after Priest. That was when he started to worry.

Autoroute A13, near Surville, Normandy

At least once a month he got away to join his family for a long weekend in Brittany. If he got the Paris Ambassadorship (and he had been privately assured that it was very much in prospect) already having a second home in their country should play well with the Frogs. Anyway it was peaceful and the wines were superb. Sophie adored it, and after all she was a native, and the kids seemed to enjoy the change. He tried to spend time with them if for no other reason than self-preservation: more than one potential mandarin had been scuppered by his obnoxious brood. Actually he quite liked them, although it did feel sometimes like they were from another planet. But in France they were often quite human!

He'd decided not to come into work that morning. Some persistent journalist had been flooding his secretary with messages for days. So he'd phoned his dentist who'd fortunately been able to fit him in that afternoon, leaving him free to potter and spend some time at his club. But by the time the check up was finished he was running late. So he'd put his foot down to make the connection at the time he'd booked. He caught his breath on the short journey sous le Manche and headed south at a good but legal speed as soon as he'd cleared the road network round the Pas de Calais. Once he was on the toll road he began to eat up the miles.

She'd told her principal that she was going to check on something, which was the truth of sorts, and Sir Lucas had smiled as she said she'd be back to check on her relief about lunchtime on Saturday.

Fixing the bug and the small charge hadn't taken long and most of the civil servants who were authorized to use the senior car park were networking (or whatever they called it) over an extended lunch. So it was as quiet as the grave. Priest wasn't out. It was his weekend in France and he'd want to get away early.

Once everything was done she headed for her own car and the lock-up she'd hired. It took around half an hour to change the number plates. Then she opened the packet with her fake documentation (although it was government issued and so couldn't really be considered fake now could it!) and she was ready. Her overnight case was already in the car just in case she needed to stay over. Plus of course it might look odd without any luggage. She was away long before her target.

She continued well into Normandy before she chose a suitable parking area and pulled in. She fiddled with the radio until she found a suitable music station then relaxed. She was used to waiting. Around six o'clock she turned on the tracker. She was a bit concerned when nothing had shown up by six-thirty. But worst case she could just turn round and try again in a month's time.

It was six fifty-two when the signal registered. By the time she had got her seat belt back on and started he was almost upon her and she was able to identify him as he sped past her. She increased her speed to match and took up a position about a kilometre behind him. She followed him for about an hour until she knew he was tired and a suitable turnoff approached. Traffic was quite limited now as well. Over the previous five minutes she had cut the gap down to about two hundred metres.

Now she pressed the button and watched in satisfaction as Priest's car swerved wildly. She wasn't expecting to kill him in the crash directly but it was a good spectacular crash. The car turned over and rolled three times before coming to rest. Quickly she pulled over by the side of the road behind it.

The air bags had just deflated when she arrived.

'Wha…What happened?' Priest said dazedly.

Instead of answering she sprayed the anaesthetic straight into his mouth. It was guaranteed to break down almost immediately and become undetectable except from the minutest examination. Using a fine silk handkerchief she covered his mouth and pinched his nostrils together.

He undoubtedly had a couple of broken bones. His right wrist for one. She could see the unnatural angle. Probably something in his feet or ankles as well. Then again he wasn't especially fit. So it didn't take long for his heart to stop. Two more cars had pulled up by then.

'M'aidez,' she called desperately as she used the handkerchief to protect her hand as she wrenched at the damaged door, trying to open it.

'Madame you should come away. It is not safe.' It was an ideal witness. He'd spotted her UK plates and his voice was cultured and educated as he spoke to her. He had a point. Liquid was leaking from beneath the wreckage. She let him lead her away. Someone had phoned it in and the gendarmes were there in another couple of minutes.

It was about an hour later when she was able to get away. She'd made and signed her statement. Everything in it was accurate. She'd just left out her part in the events. She'd also managed to get a look at the wheel arch and the tracker was gone. Presumably it had shaken free as the car rolled. The magnet wasn't that strong!

She headed back north and was able to get a crossing before midnight. Then back to her lock up and the changeover. At two in the morning it didn't occur to her to turn her mobile back on.

When she got home she took a short shower and fell into bed contented that the job had gone well. Using her position she'd be able to get a sight of the report in due course. As a former colleague, her principal was bound to ask and she had a need to know if there was a threat out there.

Under the circumstances she set the alarm for nine am.

It would turn out to be a mistake.

The sound of her mobile ringing woke her up. Rachel scowled as she looked at the alarm clock – it read 7:30 am. As she picked up the handset and answered it a familiar voice drifted through her foggy mind.

"Don't say anything, just listen. The police are coming for you – they've linked you to the death of that reporter." Rachel shook her head, partly to clear her thoughts and partly as a reaction of the words entering her ear. She was up and out of her bed on instinct. "Get out of there immediately." The words were almost lost on her as she grabbed a bag from her wardrobe – it was her emergency kit, a bag filled with basic items that she would need in the event of an escape.

She disconnected the telephone call and hurriedly got dressed – omitting her socks and leaving on the tee-shirt she had been sleeping in, she pulled her jeans up over her legs and stumbled out of the bedroom. Then she heard it – the sound of a car pulling up outside.

"Shit…" Rachel muttered as she grabbed the car keys from the table in the kitchen. The blood pounded in her ears as her mind gained clarity. The key in the back door twisted and her hand grasped the handle to open it. For a second, Rachel paused as she turned back to glance at her home – everything she had accumulated since she had moved in was about to be cast aside. She opened the door and didn't risk a second glance back.

****

They swept each room as they went, checking it thoroughly as they tried to locate their target. Twenty-five minutes after they entered, they were both certain that they had failed to find whom they were seeking.

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Simmons asked as he holstered his department-issued pistol. He found himself cursing the fact that he'd had to get up at four this morning to fill out the paperwork to requisition the firearm; something his wife was not impressed with.

"This is definitely the address that Sir Lucas gave me," Yuriko answered. "Here, see for yourself." She passed the small card over to Simmons.

"Yeah, this is the place," he muttered as he looked across at a non-descript pile of paperwork. He picked up the top sheet and glanced at it, his eyes seeing the name and address on it before his brain made the connection. "Aw, crap!"

"What?"

"Crossman!" Simmons said as he moved swiftly past Yuriko. "She's going after Crossman."

Yardell Street, Saturday 9:02 am

His head hurt. When he had reached Mitchell's address the police were already there and there was no sign of her. With nothing better to do he'd got half-blotto at one of his watering houses, and then finished off the process after he staggered home. The near-empty bottle of whiskey rolled off his chest and bounced off the floor as Dan tried to get up off the sofa. His vision was blurry – but something caught his eye as it moved in the peripheral. As he lifted his head up a sharp blow from a blunt metallic object met it. Dan's head bounced off the sofa arm.

"How did you find out where I live?" The question was to the point. As he opened his eyes he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun. He heard the slide being pulled back as a round was chambered.

"What?" his response was met by a bullet being fired into his thigh. Dan screamed as he clutched it. He gained clarity through the pain and saw the face of the figure wielding the pistol. Dan recognised her as Rachel Mitchell.

"Next one goes in the gut," Rachel said. "You won't die from it immediately, but it will hurt like hell." She pointed the pistol at Dan's stomach. "Now, once more, how did you find out where I live?" Dan looked at her and then laughed.

"I didn't," he said. "Amy did. And then your people gave you up anyway – lock, stock and two smoking barrels." The pain from his leg tinged his laughter. "Didn't you realise you were expendable?" Rachel looked at him for a second, the truth of his words stinging her.

"Thanks." The word was flat and monotone as she raised the pistol once more to his face. Both of them heard something akin to tin can rolling on the floor. The world suddenly erupted in a cacophony of sound and light. Much to Dan's surprise, it wasn't the sound of gunfire that filled his world but the deafening explosion of something completely different.

Rachel's eyes were blinded and her ears flooded with white noise, then she felt the impact of a boot strike her jaw. As she fell, her finger instinctively pulled the trigger on the pistol. As her body hit the floor she felt another foot stamp down onto her hand, jarring the weapon free. Her vision began to return – and she saw a woman with delicate oriental features standing over her. High cheekbones complete with the barrel of a pistol pointing at Rachel's face.